The Faerie Thorn
From Fog & Fire, 2008 ©2007 Brigands' Folie
All Rights Reserved.

Get up our Anna dear
from the weary spinning wheel.
Your father’s on the hill and your
mother is asleep.
Come up above the crags and we’ll
dance a highland reel
around the fairy thorn on the steep.

And from the air above
and the grassy ground beneath.
And from the mountain ashes
and the old whitethorn between.
The power of fey enchantment
through their beings breathe.
They sink down together on the green.
They sink down together on the green.

At Anna Grace’s door
'twas thus the maidens cried.
Three merry maidens fair
in the kirtles of the green.
So Anna laid the rock
and the weary wheel aside,
the fairest of the four to be seen
No scream can any raise
nor prayer can any say.
But wild, wild the terror
of the speechless three.
For they feel fair Anna Grace
drawn silently away,
by whom they dare not look to see.

They’re slinking through the shimmer
of the quiet eve
away in milky waving of
legs and shoulders bare.
The heavy sliding stream
in it’s sleepy song they leave.
To the crags in the ghostly air
'Til out of the night
the Earth has rolled her dewy side
seeing every haunted mountain
and steamy vale below.
As the mist dissolves
in the yellow morning's tide,
the maidens’ trance goes so.

Singing hand in hand,
the maids have tamed their way
until they dance upon the lone
fairy hawthorn grey.
Sinking one by one
a falcon’s shadow on the shaw
hushed the maiden’s voices in the
flutter of their awe.

Then fly the ghastly three,
as swiftly as they may
to tell their tale of sorrow
to their anxious friends in vain.
They pined away and died
within a year and a day.
And ne’er was fair Anna Grace
ever seen again.
Ne’er was she seen again.

©2008 Brigands' Folie - All Rights Reserved. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.